


Gods Who Wander and War

by perpetual_danger



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF, dream team smp
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Blood and Injury, Complicated Relationships, Gods AU, Graphic descriptions of war, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Old Gods, Realistic Minecraft, Recovering from injury, eret redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetual_danger/pseuds/perpetual_danger
Summary: Dream never stops, never backs down, and neither will Tommy. Wilbur says Tommy’s anger will get him nowhere. Tommy tells Wilbur it’s all that he has.L'Manberg is at war. Pray to whatever gods you know.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 33
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! This AU has been a few weeks coming, and I can't thank @allaccordingtopan enough for listening to my rambles and brainstorming with me.
> 
> EDIT: TY ALL FOR THE 100 KUDOS. thank you so much im- ;0;

Here there be warriors, here there be fools, here there be their gods. There are gods among men, and heroes among gods, but no good fool would say it. Gods are to be feared, to be honoured in the privacy of their altars. Gods are to be spoken of in hushed tones, kneeled before the setting sun or rising tide, or to hum a prayer whilst sharpening a blade. To speak a god’s name in the presence of others is to call upon them, to conjure, and to incur their wrath. To ask a god of something is to pray that they won’t believe you greedy or foolish. To worship a god is to accept these terms, but to love a god is to give away parts of yourself until all that is left is dust.

Wilbur knows all of these things. He knows them so deeply that they are ingrained into the flesh of his heart, branded into the channels of his mind. Wilbur remembers L’Manburg, remembers the war, and remembers the battles and people they lost.  
He remembers loyal soldiers, skillful foes, and friends who they lost along the way. He remembers Fundy’s eyes as L’Manberg exploded around them. He remembers someone who had almost been a son, twisted and bloody on the ground. He remembers the grinning face of a friend, eyes hidden behind dark lenses. He remembers Tubbo’s broken voice, and the hissing of arrows as the few L’Manbergian soldiers who had their senses took aim. He remembers the glare and cold voice of Tommy. He remembers his brother addressing Eret by name. He remembers Eret’s smooth motions to take off the tinted glasses that hid his eyes. He remembers the dawning horror of seeing the glowing eyes of a demigod.  
Wilbur is no genius; Wilbur is neither old nor wise, but he knows that to speak a god’s name is to ensure death.  
Wilbur remembers the fear in Tommy’s eyes, and knows that the bitter taste of retreat has never tasted as good.

——————

Tommy would never admit it, but as he was then, he didn’t think they would make it out of there alive. He felt the heat of the bombs, the blood of too many friends, and felt his chest constrict at the sight of glowing eyes. He can honestly say he’s surprised they survived that day. Well. Some of them survived.  
Tommy will take what he can get, and pray to Technoblade and Philza that they will stay safe, and that any losses are worth the pain.

The war continues. Dream never stops, never backs down, and neither will Tommy. Wilbur says Tommy’s anger will get him nowhere. Tommy tells Wilbur it’s all that he has.

——————

Before there were two warring countries, before there was revolution, before there was even the idea of an empire, there were two boys in a meadow.  
One of them was short, with deep brown eyes and a round face haloed by a crown of dandelions. His friend, laying beside him in the tall grass, was long and lean. He wore a ratty woollen cloak, dyed a dark green and stuck through with burrs and twigs.  
One of them was a god, and one was not. They had only known each other for a short time, but they met up again and again through circumstance. In starlit forests, in small cafes, in flowering meadows.  
They enjoyed each other's company, though the boy in green had never gotten the name of his dear friend. Weeks, months, years pass and still the boy with the flower crown does not age. His features never harden, and his smile never fades. The boy in green who has all but grown up knows what this means, but he never says a word. This knowledge is not for him.  
It has been 5 years, and the boy with soft features and crown of fresh flowers sits with him in a warm summer rain. He still looks 16.  
“How old are you?” The man in green wants to ask.  
“Too old,” The boy in the flower crown wants to answer.

They sit in silence instead.

——————-

Wilbur knows his brother like the back of his own hand. He knows Tommy doesn’t expect to make it out of this duel alive, and he knows that Tommy has already made a deal with the devil for their independence. Wilbur thinks of Tubbo without his Tommy, of digging another grave for family. He’s sending his baby brother to his death he can’t do this he can’t he-  
He thinks of Dream forcing them to wave white flags.

He counts to ten.

——————-

The man in green hasn’t seen his friend in a year. He has never been one to worry, but to not see a familiar crown of flowers for so long is like to spend that time without air. So, the man does what he has always done. He walks into small shops, and wanders through forests at night. He climbs mountains just to see the view, and climbs down to continue to wander.  
The man wanders for a long time. He practices with his axe, meets new people, and continues walking. The man in green is happy, traveling like this. 

He enjoys the small things in life, and continues searching for his friend.

———————-

Tommy wakes up to the sound of light snoring. His older brother sits by his bedside, collapsed in a chair. He moves to get up but is stopped by a painful pulling in his side, and falls, gasping back onto the mattress. His vision is speckled black and blue, and he can hear Wilbur speaking to him, but can’t make out the words. 

It takes two weeks before Tommy is able to walk around, and three before he's able to move around on his own. Wilbur never leaves him alone, barely lets him have enough time to use the bathroom before his brother is fussing over his stitches and begging him to sit down.  
Tommy is Tommy, however, and only sits down long enough for Wilbur to turn his back.  
It takes 10 weeks before Wilbur lets him anywhere near a weapon, and when Wilbur places Tommy’s precious sword in his hands, he wastes not one second to jump and yell to the fleeing birds of his recovered health.  
He practices with Tubbo, who of course goes too easy on him. Tubbo just laughs joyfully and tells Tommy how happy he is to see his friend up and about. Tommy calls him clingy, and sits down and leans his head against Tubbo’s shoulder. 

————————

Tommy knows not to acknowledge any gods you may have met. He knows to do so could result in being torn limb from limb, or to spend an eternity starving for air. Tommy knows this so deeply it is branded into his heart, yet knows that he could never bring himself to stay quiet in any event. So when Tommy sees a farm, perfectly managed, yet no one in sight, he starts his search. The farm stretches for miles, over hills and through valleys, and seems to never end. It takes days of searching before he finds a man.  
The farmer stands alone in the middle of the field, and continues his work as Tommy makes his way closer. The man never looks up from his crop. 

“Who are you?” asks the boy with too much curiosity.

“I’m a farmer,” says the man with a trowel in hand.

“Bullshit.” Says the boy who has too much time on his hands.

The man continues his work. “Uh huh.”

——-——————-

It isn’t long before the military sends word to Tommy that he is needed in battle. It takes all of Wilbur’s strength to not beg Tommy to stay, to just stay here at home and live as a family. Wilbur pulls his baby brother into a hug and whispers a prayer to Technoblade into Tommy’s hair.

———————

Wilbur kneels at the altar that sits in the back of the kitchen, and he prays to the god of family. He prays that he gets to keep his baby brother. He lights a pine-smoke candle and asks for humility. He asks that he will not make the same mistakes that he has in the past. He begs for this god to look over Tommy and see him as someone who fights for others, who is just a boy who is lured in by the idea of playing a hero.  
He prays to Philza.

———————--

The next time the man in green sees his friend, the boy’s cheeks are stained with tears. He holds his friend closely and listens to the boy tell him of his troubles. His friend had died, the boy said. Murdered. He holds his friend tighter. 

“I’m not human,” says the boy in the flower crown

“I know,” says the man in green.

They sit in silence, both having said all that needed to be said.

——————--

The Nether is an awful place. This, Phil knows. It’s hot and sweaty, and the piglins who live there are barely sociable. He doesn’t like to be here, but Technoblade is running late, and he still needs to talk to him. He knows the kid is lonely, needs a friend, someone to talk to, and he knows Techno hasn’t had someone like that in centuries. Kid needs a fucking sparring partner. This, Phil knows.  
Phil is a god- Philza, the humans call him. Their prayers fill his head like a comforting stream, and he takes a moment in the arid heat of hell to listen to the loving words of the people who worship him. He’s not always sure he deserves it, but he appreciates the knowledge that he means so much to so many people.  
There’s a prayer in his ear, particularly loud, one of a man pleading for the safety of his family. He doesn’t get these very often.  
The man -the boy- kneels, crying, before an altar with two wings carved into the dark wood. He begs for his little brother’s life, begs for Philza to see this child who just wants to help people, just wants to be known as a hero, and to protect him. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. He cries before the altar of a god he only hopes can hear him, and pleads for Philza to remember the name of his baby brother.

He promises to remember the name of the baby brother, and the name of the older one, too.

——————

“What’s your name?” asks the man in green.

“Tubbo,” the boy answers.

Searing pain lances up the side of the man’s face.

——————-

Wars, battles, bloodshed; to Dream, they all pass like the coming of the tide. Five hundred years come and go, and still, Tubbo is not the same boy he met in that meadow. The god of happiness found in small things, the god of lasting friendship, how can one such as that be so unhappy?

It's been five hundred years since Tubbo had given him the gift of undying, five hundred years since Tubbo's previous vassal had died, five hundred years since Tubbo had searched for a replacement in Dream.

The man in green was tired of watching his friend in pain, tired of seeing his friend refuse to reach out, tired of being a replacement for someone he never knew.

——————

The end of the war was nearly a year ago, and though the peace is tedious, it still holds.

The peaceful times don't last for everyone, however, and like the Hatfields and McCoys, factions break out, and so does bloodshed. The death of a local pet sends the community into an uproar, and the fragile peace tears like the paper it was made of. 

The treaty has long been signed, but the war cannot be forgotten, nor the crimes forgiven.

Six more months sees Wilbur praying at his altar as Tommy marches his men into battle with their only leverage - a fish named after a star.

——-————————————

Tommy marches into battle with his head held high, his soldiers trusting him to lead them into action. The pain in his gut rarely spikes anymore, and it only happens when he's overtaxed himself for hours. He rolls the leather pendant in his hand, one the farmer had given him in good trust.  
From across the battlefield, he sees an old enemy in Netherite armor, and he grins. Fire cannot help him here, not when his enemy faces him head-on in battle.  
Sapnap's speech is long and winding, and it seems like hours before he raises the ruby pelt of a fox into the air. 

Tommy sees red and raises his own leather pendant into the sky and cries the name of the god of war and bloodshed into the open air, and rushes headlong towards the enemy.

For a moment, no one follows, enemies and allies alike with their eyes full of fear. 

"You idiot!" The arsonist screams, swinging his axe towards the child, only to be blocked by a netherite sword, shimmering with power. 

No one moves.

——————

Dream sits in the warm summer rain, letting the ambient noise wash over him. His mask sits to his side, and the soft breeze and mist caresses his face. It's nice here, he thinks. He remembers back when he was still mortal, and he and his friend would sit under this tree, with the slight rustling of the leaves being the only noise they made. 

Padded footsteps interrupt his thinking. He was too careless- has gotten too soft. He flashes his hand out for his mask, but a hand grabs his, and he turns his head away, trying in vain to protect his identity.

"Clay?" Dream freezes, his entire body shutting down. This is it- the game was up. 

"Hi, Tubbo."

——————

Sapnap stares in horror as his axe is blocked by a stranger, one who had appeared without his notice. His eyes drag up from his countered axe, the runes carved along the shimmering black blade. A ruby velvet cloak hangs around the stranger's narrow shoulders, shocking white fur running along the seams, contrasting brightly against the man's tanned skin. Pink hair frames his face, and it's then that Sapnap sees the tusks protruding from the stranger's mouth. The arsonist stumbles backwards, nearly dropping his axe.

He doesn't see the stranger carelessly turn away from him to face Tommy, to meet the enemy.

All he sees are deep pink eyes and an aura of power.

————————

Tubbo sinks to his knees, shellshocked. "Clay… Clay, it's been years. Where- where have you been?" Tubbo eyes him beseechingly before trailing his eyes down to what Dream had been trying to grab.

"Clay?" Tubbo's eyes widen, grasping desperately at the mask on the ground, flipping it over to reveal the eerie porcelain face.

"Tubbo-"

"No! No, it, 's- it's not true!! Don't tell me. Don't tell me you've spent all these years right here, tormenting me. Clay! Clay, he- he wouldn't do that!" Tears build up in the boy's eyes as he pulls at his hair and stares at the ground.

"Tubbo, listen to me-" 

"No! No- You were supposed to make people happy! You're supposed to make people smile and- and be kind and-" the boy angrily wipes the tears out of his eyes, brown eyes meeting green. "Whatever happened to the boy in the meadow?"

"He never existed, Tubbo, why can't you see that?! You needed an enemy, and I played one! It's been centuries! Centuries of you wanting me to be someone I'm not; centuries of you searching for someone to blame. Here's your person to blame, Tubbo.  
"Centuries of friendship mean nothing if I was never the person you wanted me to be." Dream hopes his friend will understand, and hopes he can get him to realize how much Tubbo means to him and how much he wants their friendship back. He sags down against the tree, letting out a sigh.

"Clay…"

"Camelot isn't real, Tubbo. It never was." Tears run down his cheeks, and he stutters out a breath as Tubbo sits to lean against him.

"I'm sorry."

“I am too, Tubbo. I am too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family torn apart.

Fundy was buried along with all the other soldiers and lost friends, but unlike the others lying in their hastily made graves, Fundy wakes up.   
Fundy wakes up to dirt in his mouth, nose, eyes, and he chokes and coughs, and there's a light glow in the small pocket of space he has in the ground, and he panics, trying to find where the light is coming from- where is it, he has to- he has to get to the surface-  
The light reflects off of the backs of his hands.  
He chokes on his tears and turns his hands over to stare at the amber glow cast on his palms. His breath hitches as he sees the glow fade as he pulls his hands away from his face and begins to remember what had happened.   
He sends a prayer to Eret, to his friend, his brother, to forgive him for his pride.  
Nothing will ever be the same. Everyone had seen his broken, bloody, decrepit body and saw Wilbur bury him in the earth. He had a nice run, playing the mortal game, but his home is no more. 

He spits the dirt out of his mouth and vanishes from the grave.

———————-

Tommy grins as Sapnap and his army retreat. 

He had done it- this was their victory! They got their surrender from the arsonist, and while it's no apology, to see the fear in his eyes, to see him stumble back, knowing that he was at his mercy? Tommy has never felt so powerful.   
The farmer stands next to him, and Tommy ignores him for a moment to send a blinding smile to his army, and watches as their faces turn from hesitant -fearful, to tediously in awe.  
He turns to the farmer, to Technoblade, and turns his smile to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.  
"Did you see that, Big Man? Did you? He- he turned tail! Did you see it?"

The god of war and bloodshed, who hasn't felt the warm smile of a mortal in a millennium, huffs and presses a thumb to Tommy's brow.

—————————-

Techno presses his thumb to the boy's brow before he can think better of it. He hasn't seen so much promise in a mortal in thousands of years, let alone one who didn't cower away from him in fear. This boy saw him, in all his glory, with his burning eyes and suffocating aura, and smiled at him.   
He grimaces as the boy crumples underneath his touch, writhing in pain as a burning mark crawls down his brow and over his cheek. He gets down to his knees and pulls the child into his arms, gently running his hand through the boy's hair, and tells him the pain will be over soon.   
One soldier comes forward with a canteen of water and a scrap of cloth and helps the god wipe sweat from the boy's brow. 

The sky darkens, the soldiers set up their camps, and still, the boy does not move. His breathing is shallow, and his body radiates heat.

A young woman, a doctor, nervously comes forward and instructs him to strip the boy of his armour and underclothes, and together they move the young general into the nurse's tent. They lay him down on a cot and change him into a light nightgown and cover him with a thin sheet.   
The nurse discovers an ugly scar carved into the boy's side, coloured black and blue, and barely healed. It was evident that it had re-opened far too many times with too little proper care. The two sit side by side and watch as the wound knits itself back together in front of their eyes.

The god hums and continues his quiet vigil.

————————-

Eret, the demigod of pride, those who are lonely, and doing what you believe to be right.  
Fundy, the demigod of trickery, missed opportunities, and the honourable search of power

Eret became attached to the game. He had wanted friends, and he found them in the form of a rag-tag group of rebels. He saw his younger brother, ready to die in this war just for the sake of power, and he saw his friends who would do anything to protect one of their own.

He made his choice. 

Eret met with Dream, the tyrant, under an empty sky and promised to bring an end to the war. Dream had his motivations, he knew, but they were of no concern to him. Dream told him by the rise of the full moon; he would have a golden crown.

He tried to bring an end to the war. He tried to give his friends a happy ending. Maybe if the war were to end, Fundy would see how much they care about him, how much he should care.

Now all that's left is Fundy's broken memory, a mountain of graves, and Eret's own mistakes.

——————————

Tommy wakes up to the sun slowly rising above the horizon line outside the nurse's tent and to light huffs of breath tickling his side. He sits up, and for once, isn't stopped by an uncomfortable pull in his gut. He takes a glance at the sleeping figure by his bedside and hikes up his nightgown to check on what should be an aching old wound.   
Instead, there's nothing. There is no bruising, no threat of infection, no scar tissue to pull uncomfortably when he moves. He runs his fingers over pale, unmarred skin and marvels at the lack of pain or sign of previous injury.  
There's a shuffling from the man partially collapsed on his cot, and Tommy hastily pulls the nightgown back down before jumping up to tend to the burning embers tucked in the corner of the tent, and checks that the kettle hanging above it has plenty of water.   
He sleepily rubs at his eyes, and his movements stutter at the feeling of a raised and tender mark on his face. He hastily pulls on his coat to protect himself from the early autumn air and runs to the lake where the battle was supposed to take place. He falls to his knees at the edge of the water. Tommy stares down at his reflection, carefully poking at the ugly, painful red burn mark that ran like a scar over his brow and down his cheek. A reflection in the water appears behind him, and he stares, wide-eyed, at the pink-haired man who sits down next to him, cross-legged.

"What's happening to me?" Tommy asks in a small voice, one unbefitting of a general who commands armies of men, but fits perfectly on the face of a man who is still yet a child.

"What do you remember?" The man with pink hair and tusks of a boar asks him.

Tommy remembers a lot of things. He remembers promising Wilbur he would be safe, and he would come home no worse than he left.   
He remembers a man that used to be an enemy, handing him a priceless weapon.  
He remembers a fish named after a star, carefully placed in a chest with a blinking eye.  
He remembers marching off to war with a hundred men behind him, going off to face an army of thousands.  
He remembers a quiet farmer, alone in a field, gifting him a leather pendant to hang around his neck.  
He remembers raising the pendant into the air and grinning at the fear in the eyes of ally and enemy alike.  
He remembers an army of thousands retreating, and the eyes of the arsonist glazed over in fear.  
He remembers a farmer raising a blade to protect him, a farmer dressed in riches beyond belief, cloaked in the colours of royalty.

Tommy remembers a lot of things.

Tommy remembers pain.

He brings a fist to his mouth and the mark on his brow and chokes out a sob. The pieces have fallen together, and he's- he's a man. He commands armies. What would- what would- what would the men think if they saw him crying? What would that do for morale? His head is spinning- he feels dizzy, and he can't think he can't he can't think he-

He's being pulled into a hug. It's awkward and clear that the farmer isn't used to the action, but the comforting touch grounds him and brings him back to the present.

"Why- why me?" He presses the tips of his fingers to the raised mark, letting out a hiss of pain. He goes to touch it again, but he's stopped with hands much larger than his, and he calms at the small circles rubbed into the back of his hand by a calloused thumb.

"Who else," a deep voice rumbles, "would be able to survive the mark of the god of war?"

———————

Wilbur is a musician. He writes ballads of fair maidens and tales of traversing the lands. He sits on the porch and sings songs while waiting for Tommy to come home.  
Wilbur is an older brother. He wants what is best for Tommy and would do anything for his baby brother. He remembers using what little money he had to buy him a gleaming netherite sword.   
Tommy is a younger brother. He is foolhardy and pretends to be brave. He practices for endless hours, day after day, with first a wooden, then an iron sword, so that he could proudly wield the one gifted to him by his brother.  
Tommy is a warrior. He fights on bloody battlefields and boasts to Wilbur about his experiences. He points his sword at the enemy and laughs when they flee.  
Tommy is a younger brother. He promises to come home safe, even when he doesn't fully believe it himself.  
Wilbur is an older brother. He worries too much and not enough and prays at his altar that Tommy will return home as safe and healthy as he left.  
Tommy is a warrior. He fights his battles and strikes fear into the hearts of monsters and humans alike. Tommy is young.  
Wilbur is a musician. He strums his guitar and writes new songs while waiting for Tommy to return. His voice won't work when he spots the blessing of a god upon his brother's brow.  
Tommy is a warrior. He never thought he would outlive his older brother.  
Wilbur is an older brother. He never thought he'd wish for his baby brother's death.

————————-

Phil is not perfect; he is no man sitting upon a gilded throne. Phil is a father. He is the god of family, born with or found; the god of older brothers who care too much and say too little; the god of guilt in the face of something he could never have changed.  
Phil is not perfect. He sees two mortals he cares too much about and sits with his hands folded beneath his chin, and he regrets.   
He regrets that their future was written in blood and carved in stone so long ago. He regrets that these two boys had to grow up so quickly, and the war stole them away from ordinary life. He regrets that his son has to be the one to urge them along their path of hardship, and he regrets that he cannot be there to soothe their pain.  
Phil is a father. He has been a father of one since before he had dark wings and an undying soul and has been a father of three since a young man cried out to him to protect his brother.

Phil regrets many things, but if Wilbur wakes up in the dark of night, lucid in his worry for his baby brother, and is put back to sleep by soft humming and the faint rustle of feathers? Well, It's nothing more than a dream.

————————

Wilbur hates Eret. He hates his crown, his cloak, and the glittering rings upon his fingers. He remembers when he trusted Eret, back before he knew what the man- what the demigod was capable of. Wilbur hates him with all his being, but that doesn't stop him from kneeling before the castle gate and begging for the audience of the king.

Eret is stoic and callous, and every second spent in his presence reminds Wilbur of everything this man, this demigod, had done to his family.

You cannot punch gods. You cannot punch their children. You cannot speak this man's name or cause him any harm, no matter how much that man has done to you- to your family. This, he knows, but it doesn't make him want to do it any less.

Eret has a proposition. The king cannot give him a blessing, for though he is the son of a god, he is no god himself. Eret cannot promise him the same treatment given to Tommy, but can grant him some semblance of immortality. Eret can keep him from losing his baby brother. 

Eret asks him to cut off his arm and to hand it to him in ruby velvet.

Eret leaves him bloody, crying, and betrayed on the throne room floor. Tommy is not here. Tommy will never be here. Wilbur wishes he could say goodbye.  
Eret comes back. Eret comes back, and Wilbur stumbles back, scrambling on the smooth wood floor. He isn't quick enough and cries out when Eret shoves a bloody thumb inside his mouth. "blood of a god," he can vaguely hear.   
The throbbing pain dulls, and Wilbur sobs into the velvet cloaked shoulder of the man he hates most in this world. The two sit there in silence only choked breathing and wet tears. 

"It's alright, my friend. You are safe now. Your life rests in my hands. You will not die."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude for a broken family.

**_It goes like this:_ **

  
  
  


Two brothers who want a life outside of war. 

Two brothers who form a country out of their backyard, the elder building walls to keep his baby brother safe. They’re both so young, so lively and naive, and have no idea of the trouble that looms on the horizon in the years to follow. 

There are outsiders, outcasts, who see the tiny farm house being built into a community, a town, a nation, and this rickety old house with creaking floorboards becomes L’Manburg. 

There is a boy, just below Wilbur’s age, who comes to their growing village to pledge that if the seceding of L’Manburg ends in battle, he will stand by them and fight.

Eret is welcomed into their home, and with him comes a small bundle, wrapped in a red fur pelt. Wilbur welcomes them into their home with open arms, and it isn’t long before Wilbur sees himself as not just an older brother, but as a father, too. 

Eret is quiet and aloof, and stares out at the world from behind dark shades. Fundy, as he grows, is open and honest, and desperate to prove himself. 

It goes like this: Two pairs of brothers. One watches as the youngest grows not just desperate to prove himself, but desperate for power, as well.

  
  
  
  


**_The fourth, the fifth._ **

  
  
  
  


Tommy finds a quiet boy in the woods, one who struggles to smile, but enjoys the small things like foggy mornings and daisy flowers. He rambles to Tommy about bees, and Tommy spurs him on, excited to see his friend happy. It isn’t long before the boy is adopted into their home.

  
  
  
  


**_The minor fall._ **

  
  
  
  
  


_ Friends, brothers,  _

_ L’Manberg, the country built to escape needless battles, has fallen into war. Pray to whatever gods you know. _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_The major lift._ **

  
  
  
  


_ Dream, _

_ In the event that I do not make it out of this duel in the same state you found me in before the count of ten, I wish to give you Mellohi alongside Cat, and in return, you give L’Manburg her freedom. _

_ Tom Soot _

  
  
  
  
  
  


__ **_The broken king composing “My L’Manburg.”_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_ My dear friend, Jebidiah Schlatt, _

__ _ I do wish I was writing this letter to simply boast of our victory to a friend, but that sadly isn’t the case. In the war, people had looked to me as a leader, and in this time of a newly formed nation, they are looking to me again. The truth is, my friend, I cannot continue to live with the weight of a thousand lives on my shoulders; I have already lost that count to the hands of Fantasia.  _

__ _ I’m sorry you have to hear this by letter, but it is something that you need to know. Two nights ago, on August second, we were betrayed by ~~our brother~~ a man on the inside. Many lives were lost, one of which was my son and your godchild, Fundy Soot. Schlatt, I am so sorry that you have to hear of this by letter and I cannot be there to give you the news myself. The only solace I am able to provide is that he is buried under the old spruce tree. I thought you would find it fitting. _

_ After 3 years, L’Manberg has finally won the war for her freedom, independent of the nation of Fantasia. The dream that Tommy and I had so many years ago has finally been realized, and L’Manberg is now so much more than the small farmhouse you remember. I hope that when you visit, you will be in just as much awe as I have been, staring at the blackstone walls and sprawling city. L’Manberg is gorgeous, Schlatt. She really is. I wish it were under different circumstances that you would see her. _

_ 8 _ _ months from now, I am holding an election for the next leader of our fair nation, and I will not be running. I feel it is for the best to put L’Manberg into more capable hands. I miss you, my friend, and I hope to see you soon. I need your guidance. _

__ _ Yours truly, _

  
  


_ Wilbur Soot _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_My L’Manburg._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


A boy of orange hair, knowing his power and unable to grasp it. His older brother (powerful, commanding), desperate to prove to his brother that power isn’t the only path to happiness. 

  
  
  


All that is left is ashes.

  
  
  
  


**_My L’Manburg, My L’Manburg, My L’Manburg._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are super appreciated :DDD (please give me validation)
> 
> Come join the [Discord Server!!](https://discord.gg/3m7sBEK) Theres a lot of mcyt writers and fanartists here. its pog, i promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! If you enjoyed this fic, please give kudos and leave a comment!! It would absolutely make my day!!
> 
> If you want more from me and my other writer friends, please [join our MCYT Discord!!](https://discord.gg/qAt8tfg)


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